


To The Moon

by cappishe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anyways, Dom Benny, Dom Dean, Dom Sam, F/F, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Sub Gabriel, Their Love Is So, for these ships, many tears, quite a bit of sad, so good, sorry dean, sub cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:46:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3758407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cappishe/pseuds/cappishe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He scribbles Dean's name everywhere. In the crevices of the walls, and on the smooth tile of the floor, he sketches the elegant letters of this name in the margins of his papers, and occasionally on his very skin, should he be presented with a marker for the day's activities. Castiel draws this name on his hands, and presses his fingers against his lips, as though doing so will bring him closer to contentedness in his obsession. As though mumbling this name over and over again will bring him even a moment of happiness in his pursuit of reality. <br/>Dean Winchester would have never believed this to be the effect of an angel losing its grace. Sure, he had maybe foreseen Castiel to be a bit homely, but this state of being was nearing the borders of ludicrous insanity. <br/>When he writes so much that his fingers have begun to bleed, and the nurses have taken away the pen or pencil, or when there is no space left on the walls to write upon, the man simply lies down. Sleep has not come to him in nearly 72 hours, but Dean will leave anyways, departing from the incapacitated man he once knew as an angel, unsure of how to fix things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To The Moon

"10.....9......8....7....4...no wait, what comes next?'

"Six."

"Six.....right."

 

How many days would this last?

Dean stood idly, and uncomfortably, on the other side of an extremely convenient one way mirror, gazing in at the scene on the other side. Castiel, the angel; god's warrior, had been trapped inside of this residential madhouse for seven weeks, relearning what seemed to be a kindergarten education; reciting the alphabet, counting up and down from ten to one, naming the various shapes known to mankind, as well as an abundance of other miscellaneous and unnecessary skill sets. Spelling names, and drawing select items and or people seemed to be his favorite of these. Especially when the subject of these pieces, the figure in the artwork that Cas produced, was Dean. Cas sketched bright forest green eyes with colored pencils into the walls, painted light brown chops of unevenly cut locks of hair, dotted the pages of his notebooks with light

freckles, and spent most of the time that he had to learn, as well as the space on his paper, writing dean's name; over and over again, almost as though he could do nothing else. As soon as the psychiatrists were able to persuade him into writing his own name on the paper, an extremely elegant 'Dean Winchester' followed suite. It had gotten to the point which Dean had considered summoning Gabriel. He had decided against it however due to the fact that Sam still had no idea the archangel was still in existence. Even if the younger Winchester would never admit to it, the eldest of the two brothers could clearly see the poorly hidden crush that Sam harbored for the archangel. And Dean wasn't so sure that the feeling was mutual at the moment. he couldn't risk having Sammy hurt any more than he already was.

Dean's attention returned to the matter directly at hand as his eyes found focus on the dark haired man in the middle of the room; on the other side of the glass. There Castiel sat, unmoving. The pencil in his hand did not so much as tremble, held tightly in the grasp of long, but slender fingers. It was as though the former angel was staring straight through the paper, the table, and perhaps the fabric of his reality itself. Even his once bright blue eyes, full of life, of struggle and promise, of potential and talent; eyes that dean had absolutely adored and admired at one point in time, had been drained, every ounce of energy; no matter how conflicted it may have been, had been sucked quietly away. The brightness that defined his very being had faded, crawling weakly back into the recesses of his mind where it could be safe. It had taken all that Dean possessed not to shed tears when the reality of what it truly meant for an angel to lose his or her grace.

Time surely passed differently inside of the pristine white walls of the building than in the external world. Dean would never cease to be surprised when walking out into the cool air of the night after visiting hours, when he had only arrived there that very morning. Nearly seven hours may have passed, of which, the man had only acknowledged perhaps two or three. Indeed, as he took his leave of the psychiatric ward that night, already punching in the digits of Sammy's cell phone number, the eldest Winchester cursed at the moon for showing her pale face, and gazed to the stars, urging the dawn to break early over the hills.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there. This is my very first Story here on AO3, and the first story that I plan to continue, if anyone would like to continue reading. That said. if you would enjoy reading more, or would like for me to write some more of this story, please comment, and let me know c:


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